


Serve

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas won’t leave his boyfriend’s bed alone.





	Serve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for ktime247’s “16 [Mansion] Kili/Legolas” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He always hates when this happens—when he wakes up too late to immediately slip back to sleep but just a _little_ bit too early to properly get up. He tries to force himself back to dreamland—and he can remember it too, or at least the remnants: he was climbing trees to face a dragon at the top, but the tree was made of ice and he kept slipping back down.

Legolas fidgets, tries rolling onto his other side, even fluffing up his pillow around him, but there’s no use. His eyes keep fluttering open, and his throat is irritatingly dry. He can’t see much through the darkness of the room, cordoned off by thick curtains over the windows on either side of the bed, but it wouldn’t matter anyway—he knows the glass on the nightstand is empty; he drained it all last night. He needed it, too. Kíli ran him ragged, and even his Elven stamina couldn’t keep his skin from slicking up with sweat, his temperature spiking to the point of boiling. But thinking of that memory, feeling the slight soreness between his legs and in bruises all across his thighs and chest, just makes his throat rawer. He knows he needs a drink.

And he doesn’t want it just from the tap in the washroom—he wants proper filtered water, all the way two floors down. He isn’t going that far alone. 

He rolls back to where he was and gives Kíli’s back a firm shove, because dwarves can sleep through anything. Kíli only grunts, and Legolas trails up to his dark hair, sweeping it back over his shoulder to hiss in his rounded ear, “Kíli, _wake up_.”

Kíli squirms, groaning, and Legolas shoves him again, careful not to get too close—he knows that if he flattens right into Kíli’s back, lets his half-hard cock nudge against the taut cheeks of Kíli’s ass, they won’t be getting to the kitchen any time soon. A bit more prodding, and Kíli finally rolls to face him, squinting sleepily through the darkness. Around a groggy yawn, Kíli mutters, “What?”

“I need water,” Legolas explains, “and my generous boyfriend to fetch it for me.”

Kíli doesn’t outright laugh in Legolas’ face like another dwarf might, but he does take on a pinched expression—dwarves don’t use servants for every little thing. If they were in Legolas’ manor, he would’ve merely needed to ring a bell, and someone would’ve come running. 

Kíli just tells him, “So? You know where the kitchen is.”

“It is two floors down.”

Kíli lets out a little laugh, quiet in keeping with the hour. “It’s not as if you’d get lost.”

“Of course not,” Legolas counters, “but I _could_ run into one of your many uncles wandering about naked.” Though there are definite perks to having a boyfriend with a mansion—a rarity for Legolas, who’s usually the richer partner—dwarves use their sprawling space all wrong. They don’t build high and decorative as elves, but low and long, filled mostly with bedrooms for every last relative and friend. Kíli doesn’t look particularly horrified by the suggestion, just nuzzles tiredly into his pillow.

“You’ve got to be used to it by now. You know, you wouldn’t hear me complaining if I ran into your dad naked.”

“You would hear _me_ complaining plenty in that situation,” Legolas snaps right back, neglecting to mention that it’s entirely different, mainly because his father is quite possibly the most sought-after bachelor in the country. Kíli just shrugs. Legolas can tell he’ll have to try something different, and he sighs, “Look, I am not used to it. I am used to mansions coming with wealth and not family size—I still cannot believe that more than a dozen dwarves all live together in such close quarters.” With a withering, piteous sort of mewl, he whines, “I am only a delicate elf, Kíli, and I am used to my privacy. Please, escort me.”

As predicted, he can see Kíli wavering. The Dwarven stubbornness is only rivaled by a need to protect their own, and after a few moments of silence, Kíli mutters, “ _Fine._ We will go together, with me ahead, and I’ll make sure no one disturbs you—the only naked Dwarven rear you’ll see tonight is mine.”

Legolas mock-swoons, “My hero,” and nuzzles his nose against Kíli’s, which makes Kíli laugh. Then Legolas presses a kiss against his cheek, loving the soft scratch of short stubble and the warmth of Kíli’s handsome face. They get up together, and Kíli guides him on.


End file.
